The Shipyard
by zenofbeingmommy
Summary: Caryl bits from my notebook - chapters are individual drabbles, not meant to represent a whole - not everything will be M, but rating it that way because some may be (The Walking Dead and identifiable characters are not mine - no infringement is intended or implied) - quality improves as chapters go on - you may want to start with the most recently published
1. Doers Do

With his index finger he lightly traced the cord along the right side of her neck, he wanted to press his lips there, but even this action risked waking her. The moon was bright and filled the cell with an unusual light. He could see the fine hairs that curled the curve of her ear, which he had a sudden longing to nibble.

He pulled upright and gently placed his palm on her hip. In her sleep she let out a deep breath. He wished to curl up beside her, wrap his arms around her waist and intertwine his fingers with hers. But he shouldn't even be here.

Watching her sleep was the most he would allow himself to invade her privacy. It hadn't been the first time, but if he wasn't careful, it would be his last. Touching her had been too much. It crossed a respect boundary, but worse yet, it made him desire more.

But what more did he desire? Was it worth it to risk the closest friendship of his life for something she mostly likely didn't even want? They were such good friends that they could joke about it, but did she feel the same impossible attraction he felt?

She stirred and he removed his hand. He had sat watching her enough to know that soon she would turn to lay on her right side, and in the light of the moon it would be too much of a risk for him to stay.

As he left her cell, he realized that he had to figure this thing out soon. If it was safe for him to show her how he truly felt, or if it was better to remain as they were. He couldn't keep watching her this way. It hurt too much to not touch her more.

Finding physical comfort in a best friend was almost too much to hope for. And for someone who had really had neither it seemed impossible. But men like him, they didn't hope, did they? He was a doer. And what does a doer do when he is unsure? He takes action.

Daryl turned on his heel and returned to Carol's cell. She hadn't turned yet and so he slid in behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist and nuzzling into her neck, just below the spot where her hair curled. She responded by pressing into him and sighing slightly.

He smiled. Doers do.


	2. A Not So Hidden Desire

_this little bit takes place after the meeting with the Governor in S3E13, Arrow on the Doorpost_

* * *

He felt the tug in his groin almost immediately. Almost as if he'd forgotten just how beautiful she was. It hadn't even been a full day, but he had missed her. And with the tension of the meeting with the Governor and the power play with his bodyguard, Daryl was feeling especially revved up.

It didn't help that Carol was wearing something new. A long lacy vest that drew his eyes downward to her hips. Fuck, he was all desire, and he wanted her so badly. Add to that they might live out the week, and his need magnified.

He wanted to be inside her. He needed to taste her lips and lap at parts covered by that vest. He was growing harder and wouldn't be able to hid it. Best to go up to his cell for a bit.

He started up the stairs and could hear a softer footfall behind him. 'I wouldn't if I were you,' he called behind without turning his head. He couldn't guarantee his level of control if she followed him to his cell.

He entered his cell, took off his gear, and when he turned to sit, she was there, at the door, leaning casual and smiling.

'Why?' she asked calmly.

'Why what?' He responded gruffly, hoping to scare her away.

'Why wouldn't _you_ follow you?' Again, that damn smile.

'Never mind, you're here now,' he huffed.

'I know what you want, you know. I could see, downstairs, just before you bolted. I saw you looking at me too,' she moved from the door and straddled his legs in a movement so swift, he didn't protest.

She placed a hand on each cheek and looked him directly in the eyes. 'It's what I want too.'


	3. Catching Something

He felt flush. It had been awkward but nice at the same time. Not the visceral sureness that he sometimes imagined. His lips still burned from the kisses, and he was still stirring below, despite the release.

Shit, that. The unexpected kiss in the kitchen, the escape to the corridor, the mad fumbling of clothes and limbs, that wanting to but not knowing what to do with each other. They had totally forgotten themselves. Had it occurred to him, where would he have found a condom here at the prison? Glenn maybe. But he hadn't thought and totally got lost in the moment.

Despite the deep, long awaited satisfaction his body felt in this moment, his mind panicked - had she remembered too? She was back in her cell now he was sure, and he needed to seek her out. Could he have been more careless and irresponsible? Pregnancy was no small matter in this new world, and no easy one. He thought with a pain about the loss of Lori. Even tenuous life had a cost.

He slipped from the corridor where they had shared their first passion. They had agreed to depart separately to not cause suspicion, and he had sat there against the wall a good hour thinking of her and them before he had remembered his carelessness. That was not a door easily closed once it was opened.

He crept to her cell and stood, leaning against the door frame. 'Hey-ya' he called.

She looked up at him and smiled, 'Hey.'

'I…uh…,' he began.

'No worries,' she said calmly. 'I knew and didn't stop you,' she paused, 'it would be a welcomed consequence.'

He smiled at that, both his face and tone lightening. 'Yeah, but you could catch something from me.'

She laughed softly, 'Yeah, with all those women you run around with.'

He couldn't help but chuckle.

'Besides, it is what married people do,' after which she blushed and looked down.

He moved from the door frame and sat beside her on the bed. 'We kinda are, aren't we? Just haven't admitted to ourselves,' he took her chin in his hand and raised her face to meet his gaze. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what?'

'For rushing things, for not making our first time more special. I got so caught up in you and that moment. I just kind of lost myself.'

'You and I both,' she smiled

'Maybe we could make this a little more permanent-like - cell mates, bunk mates, whatever. Less of a need to hide and so I can give you the attention you deserve.'

She smiled, 'I'd like that.'

He cocked an eyebrow at her, 'Want to start now?'

'Sure,' she said and leaned in closer to meet his lips.


	4. One-on-One

_**A/N:**__ This takes place shortly after Daryl returns from Woodbury with Merle, it is the first time Carol & Daryl have alone_

* * *

_She had gotten caught up in a powerful moment, and now, after, she felt it fading - more fantasy than memory perhaps?_

The evening Daryl had returned with Merle, she crossed paths with him at the door to the courtyard. He was coming in as she was headed out. They exchanged genuine smiles of greeting, and he turned to followed her back out.

They sat on the rusting bleachers which flanked the basketball court, nets hanging in shreds now, flapping quietly in the night breeze. There was maybe four inches between them, and she pressed her knee to his, 'I missed you.'

He pushed back playfully with his knee, 'Merle couldn't keep me away from my family.' The air shifted, then stilled. He slid closer and reached out his arm to wrap her shoulder. Instinctively, naturally, she leaned into him and rested her head.

They sat in silence like that for some time. She closed her eyes and listened to his breath. She breathed him in, his scent seemed everywhere.

She felt him squeeze her shoulder and loosen his grip. 'I promised Rick I'd relieve him.' She straightened, and as he stood she tucked her feet under the bleacher and smiled up at him.

'Good night Daryl.'

He smiled at her sheepishly. 'So far it has been. Good night Carol.'

She watched him exit the courtyard, then turned to lay back on the bleacher, still warm from where he had sat. She stared at the stars for a long while. Without the lights to dim them, the sky was beautiful.


	5. More Than A Kiss

Her lips tasted like honey and mint, and felt softer than the peaches hanging heavy in the branches stretched overhead. He felt the roughness of his own as they pressed against hers, and cringed inwardly. This could hardly be romantic for her. He released an audible scoff.

She pulled away and placed her hands gently on each cheek. 'What's the matter?'

'Your lips are too soft. Mine feel like sandpaper. Can't be nice for ya.'

She giggled. 'It's just a simple sugar scrub I made, I'll share if you like. But just so you know, I don't mind a bit. I like the feel of your lips on mine.'

He could feel the color rise in his cheeks. She was lovely and understanding. Before things changed, he'd had no luck finding someone who didn't have some angle, let alone actually wanted to be with him. How was this possible? It struck him, he was different now. It took the world changing to change him, but it had, and for the better.

He brought his hands up to her own and pulled them down gently into his lap. He wasn't going to run away and she needed to know that. But he wanted to slow down. He had brought her out here away from the others. He had initiated the kiss, and he knew he could take it further, it was clear she was receptive. But he didn't want her to misunderstand his intentions. He needed her to know a deeper truth than this kiss was expressing. And he didn't want his desire to confuse things.

He didn't know how to tell her he was afraid to ruin what they had, what they could have, with sex. And he was afraid that his awkward attempts would make it even worse.

Kissing her seemed so natural. Other than his hyper-awareness of the texture of his own lips, it had felt right pressing his to hers, sucking lightly, play biting, flicking with the tip of his tongue. But that was as much as he dared. To invade her mouth with his tongue seemed too direct, too forward, too sexual.

He'd been silent, wrapped up in his thoughts, and he brought his eyes up to meet hers. She was staring at him, full and open and bright.

'I can't fuck this up, Carol. I just can't. I don't want things to be awkward with us. I want you...physically...very much. I want more than this, just not yet…'

She smiled. 'Why mess with perfection, right?' She pulled his arms around her waist and settled with her back leaning into him, knotting her fingers with his own.


	6. The Soft Hum Of Night

Daryl could smell her, a scent lingering still on the pillow. This was her bed where she laid her head at night, and she'd offered it to him for his comfort. She was out with the baby now, but where would she sleep tonight?

His eyes felt so heavy as he fought sleep. He could hear Judith cooing just outside the cell, growing faint then louder as Carol walked her back and forth. He watched her shadow hips sway as she moved close and could hear the click of her boot heels as she moved away again.

She sang softly to the little girl a song he could barely make out. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite hear the words. As he drifted in and out of sleep, he imagined Carol nearer, humming softly now.

He heard boots softly hit the floor to the right of his head and the humming grew softer, he could tell she did not want to wake him. He realized that in his fading in and out of sleep that she must have laid Judith down for the night.

In the soft light, he saw her change quietly into a loose shirt and run her fingers through her hair. He didn't want her to know he was awake and watching her, so he lay still.

Quietly and deftly she climbed into the upper bunk, keeping her humming low. He drifted off to the comforting sound and nearness of her. He would deal with his feelings in the morning. For now he nuzzled deeper into the pillow and was surrounded by the smell of her. Damn, if she only knew what she was doing to him.


	7. Sour Patch Pony

_**A/N:** this is just a silly little idea I had - inspired mostly by The Walking Dead Ponies created by normanzombie - just adorable creative little things!_

_As always, The Walking Dead identifiable characters and situations are not mine; no infringement is expressed or implied, and are presented here for entertainment purposes only - same goes for the My Little Pony branding_

* * *

Something was happening, and she didn't like it. A hormone change brought on by stress or scarce food or a combination of the two. She didn't like how her body was feeling, and the closest she could compare it to was pregnancy. When she carried Sophia, the last two months and about six months after delivery she would get the worst headaches. Migraines that would sit behind the eyes and scream at the merest shift in light. She tried everything, from conventional therapies to old wives tales, but the only thing she'd ever found that gave her some measure of relief was a counter-sensation: sour.

The more extreme and intense the better. She'd discovered it by accident once in the doctor's office waiting room. She'd started coughing uncontrollably, and another mother reached in her purse and offered with a sorry all that she had, a super sour military grade candy bomb. Not only did it soothe the coughing, but it had the magical side effect of practically eliminating the migraine she'd been having.

From that day on she stocked her purse with sour candies and at the first hint of one coming on, she pop one or two in her mouth. She looked around her prison cell. There was nothing even remotely sour, candy or otherwise. And she knew there was nothing in the food supplies.

She was starting to get the first flash, a sensitivity to light, soon there would be a blinding pain and she'd have to lay down in the dark quiet of her cell. She walked out onto the perch and looked below to the general meeting area, she'd hoped to maybe catch Glenn or Maggie and ask when the next formula run would be.

She felt the air stir behind her. "Who ya lookin' for?" Daryl came to stand directly to her left, he placed his right hand on the rail directly next to hers. He reached out his pinky and tapped the side of her hand. "Huh? Hey you lost in thought or what?"

"Just looking for Maggie or Glenn, I had something to add to the run list." She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the light.

"They left about an hour ago. They were going to try a different direction, but it was further so they left early."

Daryl was looking at her now, he could tell something wasn't quite right. She put a hand on her shoulder and directed her to her bunk. When she sat down she covered her eyes with both hands. "You need some pain medicine or somethin'?"

"No, that won't help, once this thing starts it doesn't work very well. I need to block the light and lay down for a bit I think."

Daryl rose and secured a sheet over the door. He sat down at the foot of the bed and stared at her a bit. There was genuine concern in his eyes. "So are you okay?"

She gave him the quick version about the migraines. "And there's nothin' that can help?" Of all of his expressions, she disliked his helpless one the most.

"Well there is something that might help, but Maggie and Glenn have already left."

"I need to restock ammo anyway. Just tell me what you need."

She felt silly telling him to find her sour candy, but she did and she added, "the more sour the better." He seemed to take a bit of delight in that.

He removed the red handkerchief from his back pocket and folded it neatly into a rectangle, handing it to her. "Just lay back here and rest with this over your eyes. I might be awhile. Try to stay comfortable and don't move much, k?" He secure a heavier blanket to the door which blocked even more of the light "I'll tell them downstairs not to bother ya, and don't you go looking to go all mother hen either. You just stay put."

He pulled a shawl off the chair next to the bed, and wrapped it tightly about her. She laid back on the bed with his cloth over her eyes and tried to still her breathing. Suddenly, all she could smell was Daryl. It was by no way displeasing, but to her sense-heightened brain, it was too much. She opted instead to pull it to her chest while she buried her head into the pillow to block out the light.

Time shifted for her a bit. The pain was blinding, but she also drifted in and out of sleep. She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard boot falls on the landing. She sat up just as the blanket was pulled aside. Daryl ducked in and allowed the blanket to fall back into place, keeping the light once more at bay. In his hands he carried a plastic shopping sack, relic of a time before. For just a moment, the world felt a bit normal like every thing was just fine, and he was running a simple errand for her.

Daryl sat beside her on the bed and pulled out several packs of sour candies. "These ought to last you a bit," he smiled, quite proud of himself, she could see it in his eyes. He clutched the bag closed, but it looked far from empty.

"What do you have there? Your ammo?"

"This?" He held up the bag then dropped it quickly to his lap. "Naw, this is just a little something for me, nothing special. I best go unload the extra ammo I did find, a little more than this little sack could hold." He smiled and rose to leave. He turned and lowered his head so his eyes could meet hers. "Now don't forget to take one of those, I risked life and limb for ya." A smile cracked the corner of his mouth and he was gone.

The candies had the desired effect, and by morning she felt more like herself. She busied herself with her normal morning routine. She tried to wash the pillow cases frequently for everyone because they seemed to get the dirtiest, so she made her rounds collecting cases from each cell. When she pulled Daryl's pillow forward she was greeted by an adorable pink pony with an orange and yellow flowing mane. She smiled in delight. She knew the pony's name by the three little feathers on its flank, Feathermay. Sophia had been passionate about the ponies, and apparently Daryl was too.

She patted the pillow back into place and set about the rest of her chores with a smile on her face. This is how you fall in love, she thought, the little things...the little things.


	8. A Pressing Need

_**A/N:** this is my first attempt at something on the smuttier side of things - but still far from it - practice makes perfect, right?_

* * *

It had started innocently. They were sitting facing each other on her bunk, sharing time and space before Daryl headed to watch and Carol turned in for the night. It had become a more frequent occurrence, almost daily now, as their comfort and ease grew. This night their talk had turned to one of Daryl's favorite subjects, buddhism, and Carol remembered the book that she had found in the prison library two days ago that she had wanted to share with him.

She placed her hand on his upper arm, and said "I have a surprise for you." She stood and began to search the top bunk which which held her belongings. The book was not readily visible, and she began to search through the items directly in front of her. She moved a bit to her left and started searching there, still nothing. So she moved a little more. When she felt her leg brush against Daryl's, she moved her left leg over his as she continued her search.

Suddenly she stopped. His hands had come to rest on each side of her lower back, just above her hips. They were firm and unyielding. She realized at this point she was fully straddling his legs, and she blushed slightly, though she knew he couldn't see her face. His hands curved around the small of her back, and she felt a pressure as he tugged her down toward him. "It can wait," he whispered.

She allowed him to pull her down into his lap, and she looked at him confused. "What are you doing?"

He only stared. His jaw was set and he continued to stare. She felt his grip tighten slightly, and pull her more firmly onto his thighs. She didn't know what to say and she didn't want to break the moment. He wrapped his arms to cradle her middle back and he pulled her toward him. She could feel his erection which had not been there moments before. He pulled her forward so that her chest was pressed to his. His hands were warm and firm and gentle pressing into her back.

He broke the stare to trail his eyes down to her throat, to her neck, where he dipped forward and planted a soft kiss on her jawline, testing, lingering, then pulling back. "Woman, you smell like fuckin' gardenias," he let out a sigh and buried his head into her neck, pulling her closer still. She felt his hips rise slightly to meet her, and she rocked her own in response.

She closed her eyes and tried to push away her confusion. Hands resting next to each other was an event for them. And yet here he was, his lips on her neck, rubbing his obvious desire against her. She brought her arms up to wrap around his shoulders and cradle the back of his neck. He shivered against her and buried his head even further into her neck. He was kissing at her collarbone now and trailing those kisses to the tops of her breasts. He nuzzled his head in her cleavage and inhaled sharply. "Good God, woman, what is with these fuckin' gardenias?"

Was it really just that easy? Find the right scent and he turns from a shy, reserved, gentleman into...this? She didn't want to complain, but she was cautious, she didn't want things to be weird later. "Daryl?"

"Hmmm?" He didn't raise his head or open his eyes, his hands did not stop caressing her back, nor did his lips stop their exploration.

"What are we doing?" She tried to ask calmly, but she felt very close to an edge. His kisses had become more insistent, and her breasts were starting to respond, as if on cue, he moved his right hand from her back to caress the nearest one.

"Somethin' we shoulda a long time ago." He moved his lips up the column of her neck and nipped lightly along her jaw. He raised both hands to capture her face and held her away from him for just a moment staring right into her eyes. His eyes flickered over her face. And then his lips found hers, kissing first the outside. At first taste he became more insistent, pushing his tongue to meet hers, measuring her willingness with each sweep. She felt him tug at the hem of her tank top, raising it slightly to slip his hands under. His breath in-took sharply when he met bare skin. His mouth grew more insistent and he began to nip and bite at her lips. "You know what I want?" He asked, his voice more a growl than a whisper.

"To go on watch?" She teased, pulling his head back to look him in the eyes.

He paused, stunned, then a slow smile crept over his lips. "Yes, with you." He put his hands on her waist and guided her to stand, then snatched up the quilt from her bed, and tucking it under his arm, grabbed her hand. "It's about time I set a few things right."


	9. Barking Up The Wrong Tree

_**A/N:**__ a little bit of naughty fluff for Azzkick4Ammo - this one is a rather strong M_

* * *

She had this one fantasy about a tree. About being out alone with Daryl in the woods, hunting probably, and they would be waiting in the quiet tracking some animal. And all of a sudden Daryl would be seized with great desire and passion for her and throw her back against a tree, crashing his lips into hers while reaching one rough and calloused hand up her shirt to grasp her breast while his tongue met hers in furious battle, while he hitched up the short skirt she had randomly chosen to wear that day with no underwear, and with his free hand which had since tossed his crossbow aside, unbuckling his pants in one fell swoop and thrusting into her with wild abandon pinning her to the tree and making her moan and gasp for air, and with every hitching thrust pushing her into the rough bark of the tree and fucking her so hard that all she could see were stars and all she could hear was his deepening pants as he moved faster and faster into her, burying his head into her shoulder as he hitched one leg higher with his hand onto his hip and drove deeper and faster into her until they came in a mutual deafening release.

She felt herself flush at the thought while he scanned the trees around them. When his gaze met hers, the color in her cheeks deepened. "What are ya looking at?" He asked her directly, his eyes squinting at the rising sun. "Ya look like ya done somethin' wrong."

"No, I'm fine." She could hear her own voice faltering. She'd woke before dawn that morning and met him at the door. Her 'mind if I tag along?' was greeted with a cautious 'I spose' and a warning that she would need to be quiet and keep up. She knew this was an infringement on his personal time, and so she accepted his terms.

She leaned back against a tree, one much like the ones in her fantasy, and watched him. Fuck, was he beautiful. Something about his hunter's frame in those cut off sleeves, holding that crossbow as the muscles flexed, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath.

She hadn't worn a skirt. Her interest would have been too obvious, and he would have not let her come with him. She felt privileged to be here now. She longed for small talk that would give her the opportunity to flirt with him, but she had to stay quiet, and so she accepted that too. Just being near him would be enough.

As she leaned against the tree, she pulled one leg up to brace against the tree and she folded her arms casually beneath her breasts, pressing her shoulders back into the tree.

"I don't know, I think we lost it." Daryl dropped his crossbow by his side as he turned to her. His eyes scanned her up and down. "Woman, what are you doin'?"

She became self aware and uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her sides, but then tried moving one up to her hip, then settled on folding one over the other in front of her. She placed her foot on the ground and tried to straighten, fully aware that she looked strange in doing so. "Just...hanging out."

Daryl drew near her and leaned in to whisper, "'Ain't gonna happen that way." He smiled at her briefly and then shook his head. "I promise you, it will happen, just not against some goddamn tree."

Without another word, he took off in the direction of the prison with a stunned Carol close behind.


	10. Keeping Watch: What Daryl Saw

_**A/N:**__ this is a little bit of an inner dialogue piece for Daryl - since I personally believe that we really only speak in accents as an adjustment to our external environment, I didn't write it with one - do you ever notice how most songs are sung without an accent? - well, thoughts are the music of our minds_

* * *

I can see it in her eyes when she walks by me. The way she slows down whatever task she is doing when I am near, whether it is handing me a plate or changing Judith. She smiles more now at me, every time our eyes meet, and I find myself smiling back, uncontrolled. She doesn't seek me out for long conversations, but when we do talk, I sense she is considering every word. On the rare occasions we touch, I have felt her linger, just a second or two longer than necessary.

I find myself wondering now if maybe she really was serious, up there, that night on the bus. I thought she was teasing, so I brushed it off, and when she did too, I just let it drop. But maybe she was testing the waters and gauging my reaction. I watch her when she isn't looking, and I wonder what it is she might see in me. Is it merely an elimination process of available partners? This isn't my thing, so I don't spend a lot of time on it. But I do wonder why she treats me differently.

I've caught myself leaning closer when she speaks to me, and smiling when she thanks me for bringing back squirrels from a hunt. I don't know why I am doing these things. I don't know why I seek her out sometimes with a basic question, and hang around long enough to get some personal observation from her. I don't know why I stay a little longer after a meal and help her gather the dishes. I've almost asked her once or twice to come and sit with me on watch to keep me company, but I'm not sure why that would even interest her. She finds reasons to join me for a few moments when I am, but she never stays, maybe because I've never asked her to.

There are a few nights I've woke up in a sweat, unable to breathe, and I hear her stir in her cell, like she's been keeping watch over me, but she never comes out. I hear her some nights struggling with her own bad dream, and I stand outside her cell until she calms and her breathing steadies, but I never go in, what would I do or say? Hold her? Remind her that her little girl is gone? No, I just stand watch over her like I stand over all of them. But toward her I feel something more, a closeness that isn't as natural with the others. Yet I hold her at arms length. I don't like being touched or hugged or held, and I have a hard time doing these things.

I am damaged. I am wounded. I am not lovable.

Sometimes when I am around her, I forget this though. Sometimes I let my hand graze hers. Sometimes I let our shoulders touch or our knees, but never for long. I pull away once I become aware of my discomfort. She's never called me on it, just accepts it I guess. If I wanted to give her more, I wouldn't know where to begin.

I wonder sometimes if she might just give up on me. She deserves a lot more. Maybe one day she'll find it. Then what would I do? I'm not sure. My jealousy is more of a rage thing, and rage burns itself out. I'd just let it. I don't fight for the things I want. I show my anger, but I don't try to claim them. This bothers me. I don't have to be the man I was. She isn't the woman she was. Our world is different now. We can be different.

I sometimes wonder what her lips would feel like. If I ran my thumb over them. If I leaned in even closer when she is asking me something and placed a kiss on hers with mine - soft, gentle, barely touching. Would she back away in shock? Or move closer and meet me, moving her lips slightly against mine. Would she exhale or inhale? Would I? Could I even breathe?

I am afraid of disappointing her. She deserves someone who can give her the things she's never had. Just because I wouldn't hit her or be cruel to her doesn't mean I can give her what she needs. But I don't know what she needs.

She says these things, little things, all of the time that make me feel like I am needed by the group. They all say we are family, but she makes me _feel_ like we are. She goes out of her way to spend time with me. When we gather as a group, she is often by my side, sometimes she puts herself there, but often I am the one that seeks her out. I feel comfortable near her, and comforted by her. She gives me looks of support and words of encouragement. I feel that she looks to me more than Rick when decisions are being made, and I find myself looking to her.

I sense that if I asked her for anything, she would give it, without question. I have her loyalty, her friendship, and it seems, even her respect. I suppose if I wanted more she would flow along like she always does, with everything. I don't know why I hold this privilege with her. It is as if she has wordlessly declared she is mine. How can I meet her here in this silent space? Can our mutual affection conquer demons of our pasts? I grew up in a conditional love environment, I don't know how to function in the open.

It feels strange to be needed, even stranger to be wanted.

She told me I found her. I've been chewing on that and can't let it go. I know she meant more than just finding her that day in the tombs, but I don't know what to say to her. Sometimes I feel compelled to tell her that we found each other, but what would she say? If I admit this to her, where would we go from there? Then I think maybe we are already here, and we both know it. All that remains is acknowledgement and then nothing will really change, we just won't be operating in the blind.

Is all that remains the verbal declaration and the physical consummation? Seems very much like marriage. So how did we get here then, to this place? Did love surprise us and carry us on in its silent infinity until we opened our eyes one day to see the other standing there, sharing a life?

I know if I reach out my hand she will take it. I know if I kiss her she will kiss back. I know if I ask it, she will say yes. The answer will always be yes.


	11. Keeping Watch: What Carol Saw

_**A/N:**__ this is a companion inner dialogue piece for Carol - it is a match to the previous Daryl chapter  
_

_thank you all for your reads and reviews - to know that people actually read this means a lot to me_

* * *

I like watching him from a distance when he isn't looking. The way his muscles roll and flex under his shirt, the way he arches his back to release a kink, the way he rocks his hips back and forth when he is waiting for something. I love those rare occasions when I can observe his facial expressions when he isn't paying attention. The squinty-eyed confusion when someone enters his personal space, his hidden joy when he catches sight of Judith, and his downward concentration when he is focusing on working through something that puzzles him.

I watch, and I smile, and I keep these little moments stored in my memory for when I am feeling lonely or down. I know it is risky to put such reliance on external factors for my happiness, but there is really little else, and though I share special moments with him, there is a lot of uncertainty on my part.

He is private. I get that. He needs his personal space. I get that. He is honorable and respectful. I get those things. He does not think he is deserving of love. My heart breaks.

I have yet to convince him otherwise, though I do feel that he is starting to come around. He doesn't flinch like he used to and he doesn't run away from me even when I tease him a bit. He has warmed to my company, and there I times I actually feel like he wants me near, if only for the security of it.

There are many nights I can't sleep and I listen to the quiet echoes of the cell block. Sometimes he dreams restless, and I sit up in my bed. I keep watch with my ears. If I felt he needed me, I would be by his side, but he has always calmed and settled back into sleep. On those nights he stays fitful, and I stay up with him through the night, silently in my own bunk. I could keep an eye on him better in my own cell, but I don't think he would be comfortable if I asked.

There are some nights that I swear I can hear him breathing right outside my door. I've thought to whisper his name softly to see if he would come around the corner, but I never have. If he is there as I believe him to be, I think prefers to stay undiscovered. So I stay quiet and find solitary comfort in the fact that he is there, watching over me.

I feel strong but it is an earned strength, and one that I was not quick to. My life before this one is nearly all but forgotten now, with only the faded traces of my little girl. I forget now, often that I was ever married, that I was accepting of a brutal force that I mistook for love. I knew it was never love - but life mutates at the edges, and the things that seem concrete and simple never really are. You don't start out weak, you start out strong and full of hope. But time is a river that wears your edges down, and sometimes you soften for the worse, sometimes for the better. To say I have all but forgotten that life is to say that it only had the hold I gave it. The world we live in now does not suffer the weak, and I no longer suffer.

Losing a child is the essence of devastation. To cope I have detached that part of myself. My daughter lives in my memories, and too often now she feels as if she is a dream. With the business of being on the run, there is not a lot that can be clinged to. No possessions, no places, not even a grave. So it is the memories I cling to, and the memories in which she lives whole and free. I am not denying death. Death is everywhere. Everyone has lost someone. Most have lost many. I did not have the luxury of proper mourning, no one did. So instead of mourning, I honor her with my memories.

I watch him wrestle the demons of his own unresolved past. The not knowing the fate of his brother is worse than knowing for sure if one is alive or dead. That not knowing keeps one searching, and treading the delicate dance between hope and despair. To say I am grateful we found my little girl in the barn is a painful admission, and one that I do not make lightheartedly.

He is watching me. As I clean the dishes and organize the food stores, he sits at a nearby table cleaning his bow. Even though my back is turned to him, I can see his reflection in one of the pots. If he knew I knew, he'd be mortified. I think he feels safe because my back is turned. I can feel the blush rise in my cheeks, I've caught him actually scan up and down. He is getting bolder. Just to see what he will do I drop my the cloth I am using to dry the dishes and I bend over to retrieve it. I feel giddy and carefree for a moment, lost out of time and context. In such a moment I feel alive and I forget my own mortality for a short while. He clears his throat and rises quickly from the table muttering something about arrows. I can only smile, I must have some effect on him.

I feel cruel. I want to be wanted. I want to feel something in this dead world.

Somewhere in my past, I accepted that I didn't deserve love, and when that happened, something died inside of me. But now I want to feel alive. I want to love and be loved again. I want to experience passion and quiet and eternal embrace. I want to feel, even if only for brief moments, that I am among the living again. To exchange in electrical dance with another living breathing human being. But not just any, with the one that makes me feel safe in my own skin and loved and cherished beyond the boundaries of my imagination.

I feel the electrical impulse dance across space when our hands are near touching. I see the bright spark in his eyes when he is listening to my mundane observations of our tiny world. I want to kiss him with my being and not just my lips.

He is my steady. He is my constant. He is my divine. When I have succeeded in shutting most of the world out, I have felt him creeping in. He has a home here in my heart. I will invite him to stay.


	12. Keeping Watch: What The Field Mouse Saw

_**A/N:**__ this is my submission for the U.S.S Caryl contest on tumblr, but since it is kind of a continuation of the drabble theme I've been doing lately, I thought I would share it here with all of you_

* * *

Sometimes love is fast and crashing; nothing can stop it and it explodes with a resounding boom.

Sometimes love is slow and deliberate; a whisper in the night that echoes until dawn.

The boy and girl are booming.

The man and woman are echoing.

I don't believe that I am prone to flights of fancy. My life is a short one in comparison. When you've got two months, you make the most of it.

When I was little, the boy found me and brought me up here. He gave me a shoebox to live in, and brings me food scraps each day during his watch. Sometimes the girl Maggie comes with him, and they sit and play with me for a while. Then they will leave me with my toys, my mini rubber duck who I have named George, and a toothbrush that I like to push around. I am a simple guy sometimes. While I play, they play, and there is always a resounding boom.

There are others that come to the watchtower, and they are patient and kind with me. Some bring me food, some pet me. One in particular likes to hoist me onto his shoulder and let me look out the windows with him. It is the only time I ever get to see my home. Sometimes we see other things, people like him who wander in strange patterns or bang endlessly against the fence. Sometimes we see deer, and he whispers to me, "Hey little mouse, see those deer? They may be fuckin' majestic, but you, you are fuckin' brilliant."

Sometimes we sit watch alone, and sometimes the woman comes. She wears a lovely purple scarf around her neck, and she pats me on the head. She never makes me leave his shoulder, and they never play. They talk, and stare out in silence, and sometimes in the silence, their hands will briefly touch, and I can feel the muscles in his shoulder tighten and then relax. He is trying so hard.

Sometimes she will laugh lightly, and I feel his breathing change. He holds it a moment and then lets it go. I know he is in love, I can feel the slight shift in his body temperature, and the tiny goosebumps that sometimes rise on his skin. There are echoes here, that last long after their shift ends.

Sometimes the woman comes alone. I don't know her name because the man never calls her by it. They have a mostly wordless communication. I only know Maggie's name because the boy says it over and over as a form of affirmation and also often when they are playing.

When the woman comes alone she lets me sit in the palm of her hand and she talks to me. She likes to share her fears and little secrets. Once she told me that she liked the man very much, but that she didn't want to scare him. I wanted to tell her that I didn't think she could scare the man. He wasn't afraid of things, not even those strange wanderers in the field, but all I could do was nuzzle her hand with my nose. She giggled at that. I think the man would have liked to hear her laughter.

The man told me once that he liked the woman very much, but that he was very unsure of himself. He told me that for little guys like me, that kind of thing was natural, but not for him. He said he was wounded in his other life, and he just didn't know what to do. He told me he gave the woman what he could, and that he hoped one day he might be able to give her more, he just wished things were easy for him like they are for me. I didn't remind him that I hadn't seen my kind since I was born, and that I didn't know what to do either.

I have decided today that if they have watch, I will say hi, and then go play. I think they use me as an excuse to keep a slight distance. I am the comfortable thing they can share. If I do nothing else in my life, I would like to help them both realize they like each other very much. Since I cannot tell them, I must show them.

Today the woman has come first. She is wearing her purple scarf, but she takes it off as she enters. She lets it drape over the chair, but she does not notice that it falls to the floor. The man is a little later, but when he comes in, he is all smiles. "Where is our little mouse today?" They do not see me, hiding behind the leg of the chair. They step closer together and the man leans down to check my shoebox. "That's odd," he says, glancing around the room.

"I saw him just yesterday," the woman tells him. "He must be here somewhere."

"I'm sure he'll turn up, he always does," the man assures her.

They are standing hip to hip now, looking out over my birthplace. Now is my chance. I tug the scarf and pull it to wind around their legs, just once, but that will be enough. Then I hop up onto the console and squeak at them.

"There he is," the woman smiles.

"Come 'ere buddy," the man gestures, extending his hand.

Instead I jump down and run toward the door. They both turn to watch me and get caught in the scarf. Suddenly they are down on the floor of the watchtower, limbs spread in all directions. The man is trapped under the woman, and they look at each other in surprise. The woman smiles at the man. "Well, hello..."

The man blushes, but he does not push her off. Instead I watch him place his arm around her waist and pull her closer. It was the first time I ever saw their lips touch, and the echo is deafening.


	13. Blood Let

_**A/N:**__ I don't know what this is really - just something I wanted to work out, just a drabble - can't really quantify it, so I won't - hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you for the reads and the reviews - Caryl On!_

* * *

He was bleeding everywhere. The top of his jeans were soaked through and his shirt was saturated. He was dying. From against the wall he could see Beth a few feet away, laying on her side faced away from him, and Judith was crying, deep and squalling wails from just beyond Beth. He had to get to them, see if they were okay. He blinked to keep from passing out, the pain in his gut was intense. His vision clouded and he knew he was slipping. He felt a hand on his shoulder and then everything went black.

He woke to the sound of birds. The light seemed too bright to be inside the prison; he opened his eyes slow and saw that he was in the open air, out in the prison yard on a cot. He blinked and felt the pressure of a cool damp cloth being applied to his forehead. "Awake now, I see." He turned his head slightly and looked up to see Carol smiling down at him.

"Judith? Beth?" He managed weakly. He throat was raw from the yelling and smoke.

"Both fine. Beth just had a good bump to the head, and Judith was just a bit shaken. You on the other hand..." her voice trailed off and he watched her turn away from him, avoiding his eyes.

"What?" His voice faltered, sensing her fear and something else.

"You lost a lot of blood. Hershel was able to sew you up, but it wasn't simple. You need a lot of blood."

He was confused. Why am I outside?"

"The cell block was too smoky after the fight, so we set you up out here. You get some rest, okay? I have to do a few things, but I'll be back after a bit to check on you."

Hershel had to cut Daryl's jeans off to access the wound. Carol had gathered them and the shirt and tried to see if anything could be done to salvage either. While inspecting the jeans, she felt something large and solid in the back pocket. She did not expect to find what she pulled out. A vestige of another life, one of those things that she'd always taken advantage of before but gave little thought to now.

The leather was worn smooth and although it wasn't bulging, it did appear to hold contents still. Thinking back, she couldn't even place the last time she'd seen her own wallet or purse. She had lost track of it when Sophia had gone missing, and she had never really thought about it again. And here, in her hands, she held a key to unlock the somewhat still mysterious Mr. Dixon. Sure she'd gotten to know him, but only really in this life. He avoided talking about his life right before the outbreak. She found it too tempting to not take a peek.

She opened the brown bi-fold cautiously, curiously, almost like it was Christmas. She laughed out loud when she saw the money, two twenties, a five and three ones. She hadn't thought about money in a long time, and it seemed, before, it was always on her mind. But maybe it was more what it had represented, survival and comfort, which was something they still spent nearly every moment thinking about, it just had lost its monetary representation. His driver's license was a bit of surprise. He was only about three years younger than her. She made a quick mental note of his birthday, maybe she would surprise him. She wasn't sure of the current exact day, but she had a pretty good idea, and honestly, the seasons were a close enough thing.

There was a bank card, which was dirty on the edge, and looked as if he'd used it as a scraper. She giggled at the thought. Wouldn't need to be using it for withdrawals any time soon. An expired insurance card for his truck, a business card of a bail bondsman, a blood donor card, and a list of numbers written in a random order and a neat hand. The purpose of the latter she could not guess, but some of the numbers looked fresh, and there was ample space for future writing, it appeared it was an active list of some sort.

Tucked underneath his driver's license was a black and white picture of a young Merle and even younger Daryl. She would have guessed Daryl to be about ten in the picture, and Merle looked about in his late teens. Merle had his arm around Daryl and Daryl was smiling, something she didn't see often even in daily life. She turned the photo over and written on the back was simply "brothers '79". She tucked the photo safely back into place and closed the wallet. She set the it down on a pile of fresh clothes, and after a moment retrieved it again.

She had remembered the donor card. She pulled it out and noted the blood type, O+. It was Daryl's lucky day, she knew from when she'd had Sophia that she was also O+, it wasn't universal, but she would be able to give him some of her blood, and by the look of things, he would need it.

She pulled a second cot into the courtyard and set it up for her comfort. Hershel had warned her it might take a few hours. She sat on the cot while Hershel prepared the supplies for the transfusion. Daryl was sleeping softly, but his skin was very pale. When they had found him she'd been surprised at the amount of blood. But Hershel had assured her that he had stopped all the bleeding and that what he needed now was time replenish his blood supply and to heal.

She laid back on the cot and closed her eyes while Hershel inserted the needles. She was brave, but she didn't like watching, she never did. The site of blood had made her queasy on an occasion or two, and so she closed her eyes and laid back and visualized sitting along the bank of a pond, her feet dangled in the water and she was surrounded by Cherokee roses. She tilted her face up to feel the sun and she felt a warm touch on her shoulder. Tender lips began to kiss the flesh there and work up her neck growing more insistent as they neared her earlobe. She sighed and leaned her head to the left to allow access. She felt a solid form pressed against her back, coveting each curve - solid muscles and beating heart. She sighed and relaxed against him as his right hand came up to find the curve of her breast. The water was cool, the sun was hot, and she never wanted to leave this place.

"Carol...Carol..." She was pulled back by the pressure of a firm hand on her shoulder and Hershel's voice, calling her name. She opened her eyes and met his. "Carol, I've got the transfusion going now. I'm going to go inside for a bit, but I'll be out shortly. Will you be okay?"

"Sure, just fine, take your time." She gave him a smile of thanks. She turned her head. Daryl was still asleep, his eyes closed and his features slack. He looked so much younger when he was relaxed. She frowned. He shoulders so much, and all so willingly. She closed her eyes briefly as a wave of nausea hit her, and when she'd opened them again, he was staring at her, his eyes open and bright. Not glassy as they had been earlier. His breath was measured and slow.

"There you are," he whispered, his voice was still raspy. "Ya said you'd be back, but I don't remember much. I'm really tired."

"You will be, for a while. You have to give your blood a chance to rebuild. You took a shot to the stomach. Hershel stopped it, but you lost a lot of blood. We almost lost you."

"How come you are givin' me some? Do ya'll know what yer doin'? Might not mix well."

"I found your donor card in your wallet." As soon as she said it, his face became lined again: concern, worry, distress, she couldn't tell. "I found it when I collected your clothes."

"Ain't got no right going through my things." He was too weak to argue or retreat, so he just stated the fact.

"So you saw it then?" he said, closing his eyes.

"The picture? Yeah, you two were cute kids."

"Naw, not that. The paper, with the little marks."

"I wasn't going to ask."

"I know, but you wanna know. I know you."

"And I know you too." She smiled, trying to lighten the mood just a little. She didn't want him to feel defensive, he had no need to be. "I'm sorry if you feel I invaded your privacy. I kind of saved your life in the process."

"Well, best forgive ya then." He closed his eyes and winced. "It burns."

"Just rest, you'll have plenty of time to be mad at me later."

Twenty minutes passed in silence. His eyes remained closed, and she kept her head turned, watching him. Hershel came and went after checking on them. Time. They had lots of time to heal. Lots of time to get stronger. Until they didn't have time. But that wasn't any different than life before. Something always gets you, the what might be different, but the getting was all the same.

When he spoke again, his eyes remained closed, and she saw his lips move before she heard his voice. "It is my tally."

She thought for a moment, trying to guess what he meant. Then it dawned on her. "Of your walker kills?"

"Naw...there's a lot more marks there than that I'm sure. These actually mean somethin' to me."

His eyes were open now, staring at her, through her. His featured had softened again, and very softly, almost inaudibly, he spoke her name.

"Carol...it was every time I wanted to hold your hand, or kiss you, or come to your bed at night. It was every time I couldn't do the things I wanted to do because I was scared or shy or ashamed. I make new marks on that paper every day. I think I need to stop marking my time and start living."

She reached out her hand and met his in the space between the cots.

The sun was out and her blood was flowing through his veins, it was a good day to be alive.


End file.
